Complex
by akinorev
Summary: Everyone has a complex, a dark past that they will have to face someday. But it is only a matter of finding the right person to help you through it. AU B/V
1. Chapter 1

Complexities

I check my reflection in the rearview mirror of my top-of–the-line red sports car (which by the way, has caused a couple of neck accidents along the way. Hey, it's not my fault that people can't seem to keep their eyes off my car!) for the umpteenth time: professionally-done make-up, silky smooth blue hair tied up in a smart pony tail (I have long ago ditched my pigtails, thank you very much), and cute Prada shades. I gaze down at myself: crisp, professional white button-down shirt, black, stylishly skinny jeans, and a pair of turquoise pumps. Smart casual and hot. Perfect. Sooo… why does it feel like butterflies have taken permanent residence in my stomach, why are my hands so shaky and clammy, and most of all, why the heck have I been sitting inside my car for the past 32 minutes, 45 seconds? For goodness' sake, Bulma, it's just school!

Ah, well, you see that's the problem, it's just school, the place where parents trustingly send their kids in the hope that their little people would learn something and grow up and be someone in the future. What the parents didn't realize is that they are also sending their little lambs to be slaughtered by the wolves, so to speak. The wolves are the bullies, those kids who pick upon the younger, smaller, weaker, stupider, uglier and in my case, extraordinary kids.

I don't have confidence issues, far from it actually. I'm smart, beautiful and rich; I'm bloody perfect and I know it. Practically, I am a goddess among mortals and, a princess among paupers, if you wanted to be whimsical. But sometimes (very rare times, mind you), I can't help but want to be just like everyone else, someone who blends in with the crowd, to be a part of the crowd. And one of those moments is middle school. While everyone else was struggling to memorize their multiplication tables, I was working on derivatives and functions with my dad, who taught me everything I know, except on how to "spread my wings and fly like a social butterfly". Yep, that's my mom's words of blonde wisdom for you.

Hence, I was sent to public middle school like any other normal kid (as if). And that was when my 'dark days' started. Everyone knew who I was: the sole heiress to the Briefs' multi-zenni company, genius extraordinaire and child prodigy, the co-creator of the highly functional and revolutionary capsule technology. And thus, everyone had a highly biased, skewed idea of me as a spoiled brat (hmmm, wonder why?): the principal and teachers tried to befriend me to get my dad to provide finances for the school; the utility people followed me around for free or discounted capsules; the Journalism Club stalked me around for photos and information about me which they can sell to the media; the middle school Barbies played BFF's with me just so they can get to my awesome wardrobe; and the school jocks merely wanted to get in my pants and brag about a rich girlfriend. And the best part, the bullies thought that I deem myself to be above everyone just because I'm rich and smart, and thus, I was considered fit to be bullied. The situation deteriorated to the point that my parents nearly had the school closed for, errr, never mind. Anyway, I was home-schooled from then on, by the best teacher there could possibly be, my dad.

Oops, now I've just wasted 57 minutes, 29 seconds and classes start in about 11 minutes. Time to man up, Bulma girl (paradox much? man up-bulma girl, got it? no? oh, never mind) and enter the lions' den as I face the red, brick, neo-colonial building in front of me. Maybe, just maybe, kids in college would be friendlier and more open-minded, especially to a teacher as hot as I am. Oh, did I forget to mention? With more honorary degrees to my name than the total number of fingers in a normal person's hands and feet, I am more than qualified to take my place as a temporary college engineering professor.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: If you are a big Britney Spears fan, this chapter may not be for you. Please be warned that the opinions of the characters in the story (i.e, Goku and Chichi) do not necessarily reflect the author's thoughts. Reader discretion is advised. Sort of. Read on, peeps! :p

Complexities 2

I park my motorcycle in the only spot left: a sliver of space between a shiny red convertible and a wall. Everyone knows this parking slot is mine, Vegeta Prince's, but I guess whoever owns this sick car is either new and didn't get the memo or plain stupid and has a death wish. I look the car over with my keys in hand; perhaps a little souvenir for this car's owner is in order…My reflection in one of its mirrors catches my attention: bloodshot, fatigued eyes, a busted lip, a shiner, some scrapes; I look like road kill and I damn feel like it. Fuck, I hate my life sometimes.

I sense it first before I even see and feel it; I pull my right arm and swing at it. My fist collides with something that is hard and that talks…

"Oof! Vegetaaaaaa! Did you really have to do that? You nearly broke my nose and killed me!" Kakarot whines.

I look around and see Kakarot, hunching over and holding his nose. "Feh, serves you right for sneaking up on me, you idiot."

"Not nice, Vegeta! What if I was someone else? They could've been seriously hurt! And look, my nose! It's broken and then it will bleed and then they'll take me to the hospital and then poke me with a needle and then…"

I break through Kakarot's foolish rant; I can feel a migraine coming. Hmm, I wonder whether I should bash my head on the wall or beat the snit out of this idiot. Sometimes, I wonder why I'm still 'friends' (according to Kakarot, of course) with him.

"Kakarot, first of all, you are the only one idiotic enough to try sneaking up on me. Second, your nose is neither broken nor bleeding so cease your pathetic whining. But if a broken nose is what you want, I can help you with that, free of charge. "

"Vegetaaa! You're meeean! And…." Whatever pathetic response Kakarot had wanted to say dies on the tip of his tongue when he whirls around to face me. His usual stupid, clown face transforms into a rare (very, very, very, very rare) look of understanding and intelligence.

"He did it again, huh?" Kakarot's knowledgeable eyes are so filled with sympathy that my mouth stretches in a grim line in response. I hate being fucking pitied. People think life is all rainbows and butterflies, but it's not. And Kakarot knows it; he has witnessed and experienced it firsthand. I still do not want his pity, but, it makes it a smidgen bit better knowing that someone else harbors my secret. Perhaps, there is still hope for this buffoon. Or not.

"Goku, sweetie, who did it again?" A whiny, annoying voice says. It's Kakarot's woman, Chichi Mau. I stand corrected, Kakarot's slave driver rather. Why Kakarot puts up with her annoying attitude I have no idea. The nosy wench is easy on the eyes, I suppose, but good looks do not make a person.

"None of your business, MAU" I sneer at her.

Her eyes zero in and narrow at me. "Excuse me, but I don't recall asking you, PRINCE" Even the way she says my name is just dripping with poison.

"You're excused, so if you don't mind, scram" Feh, two can play at your game, wench.

"Why, you, you…douchebag!" she sputters. Her stance looks like she's ready to kill me as she clenches her fists. I smirk indulgently at her and stretch my arms to the side. Come on, give me your best shot. After all that has happened last night, I'm just itching for a fight. I notice Kakarot look at me nervously from the corner of my eye.

"Brittany!" Kakarot blurts out, which earns him a dubious look from the wench.

"Brittany who?"

"Um, Brittany, um Brittany Spe…Spee…Sperms! Brittany Sperms! Brittany Sperms did it again! You know, like that song…" is Kakarot's idiotic answer.

"Goku sweetie, it's um, Britney Spears. And Britney Spears is a she, not a he…"

"Oh, he's a girl now? Did he get his pee-pee changed?"

"Britney has always been a girl, Goku sweetie…"

"Oh, right, aha-ha-ha" Kakarot scratches the back of his head.

"Oh, you're soo cute, Goku sweetie! But you really shouldn't listen to Britney Spears' songs! She's not the epitome of good manners, so to speak. Did you know that she got married to her childhood friend and divorced him in less than a week after? And, um, she was best friends with Paris Hilton too! So, really Goku sweetie, you should not listen to what…"

A nag and a blabbermouth, what a nice combination in a woman. Good job, Kakarot. I tune their stupid banter out and stare at the pristine, glossy, red finish of the car beside my bike. Hmm, I guess I'll let it slide this time, just this once. Leaving behind the two idiotic couple behind me, I start walking towards the huge, red brick building. Just one more year in this hellhole and HE will get all the shit that he deserves.


End file.
